Foundation
by delectat
Summary: I saw him that day, wretched and pathetic, and decided to take him for myself. Rated M for mild smut and possibly disturbing themes. Char. Death.


Disclaimer: Not mine in the least.

Warnings: Rated M for the mild smut and possibly disturbing content. Character death.

A/N: First fic. Not sure what to think of this, it took me ten days to write. I am a very slow writer, and I hate that about myself. I like writing in first person, and especially when time setting is not constant. The writing process was very disjoined. Listened to _Solarcoaster ( Airbase remake ) _by Solar Stone on loop while writing this.

Summary: I saw him that day, wretched and pathetic, and decided to take him for myself.

Reviews or any type of feedback, whether it is good or bad, is seriously appreciated.

Foundation

By: Celestine!

Tonight is a bad night.

I tell him, _it's alright, it's alright_. Again, again and again. Constantly repeating myself. Constantly smoothing my hand over his back.

He sobs pathetically and I shush him with a whisper, _you did nothing wrong._

He squeezes me closer, as if the harder he holds me, the more his world will stop crumbling.

I am his foundation.

I pull the back of his shirt lower, passing off the action as my sweeping hand being caught in the fabric.

He shivers. I hold him and trace little nonsensical patterns on his half scarred back. I run my fingers over the bumps and grooves that had been carved there, prior to my chance meeting with him.

.

I see him, he is crying. He does not look well. His bleached hair is matted and unwashed. His clothes are filthy.

He is too wrapped up in his misery to notice me watching him. It's for the best I think; I have decided that he needs me.

His eyes are streaming tears and he is gulping air. I come up behind him and press a dampened handkerchief to his nose and mouth. His hyperventilating aids the chloroform as it moves through his airways and into his system, rendering him unconscious in moments without a struggle.

I catch him as he falls and cradle him in my arms. I look down at him. His eyes are closed; dark eyelashes touch his cheeks lightly, fluttering occasionally.

I take him back to my house and wash him.

.

He tells me that she did it, that she was always hurting him, _always beating me and cutting me and starving me and abusing me and isolating me from the world. I haven't seen outside her fucking house for over half a year. I finally got the guts to do something and stabbed her. There was too much blood! It was everywhere, I-- I panicked, I think she's dead. I didn't know what to do so I just ran--,_ he breaks down and tears begin to dribble out.

I tell him what a brave, good boy he must be, not giving up for that long, if it would have been me I would have given up long ago.

He looks up, a small tear drips down, and his eyes look into mine. Lazurite eyes. They look like crushed glass, so sharp, but so broken and nearly unfixable. I suppose someone could mend them, if they wish, but not I. He looks so proud, for a second I very nearly see the boy that he might have been. Nearly. He just falls short. This makes him beautiful to me.

His hair is now clean, he is nearly nude, but for a pair of undershorts and a large flannel shirt, both provided by me. He is adorable, so small and slight. And because of all the abuse that's been done to him, he no longer stands with broad shoulders, but hunched over, shielding himself from further harm.

His thin legs are wrapped around my waist, as are his flannel encased arms.

I try to make him eat, (_you__ need food, you're too thin_.) But he refuses; he only eats enough to take the edge off his hunger.

He told me before that he never really ate. He was always small and always intended on staying small and frail.

I got angry with him and nearly force-fed him. I stopped when I saw the look of horror on his eyes, perhaps remembering something that _she_ had done to him previously.

Eventually I learn that he can't be forced.

.

The first week after I took him in was hell. After waking up he began to shout at me, he threw himself at me and tried to claw and bite and scratch me. But I was too strong for him and soon overpowered him. He had to be constantly kept under sedation. After a couple of days his struggles became weaker, until eventually he stopped fighting me altogether. After he stops fighting I stop sedating him as much. I slip in some drugs when it's absolutely necessary. He doesn't know this. He believes that I have stopped completely. For a while he just sat back and stared at his new world. There are only three colors here: white, black and red. The walls are white and clean as are the black floors. I do not tolerate anything but sterile perfection when it comes to my house. There isn't much furniture, only the bare minimum. A white-sheathed bed for the bedroom, a red sofa for the living room, and a tall, white table complete with two matching red stools for the dining room. I have exactly one lamp for every room. He explores the house. I let him. The only place that he is not allowed to go to is the kitchen. He knows this. I have told him expressly. He doesn't question me, too beaten down into his submissive personality to question anyone.

I try little kisses here and there, he tries to resist. When he tries to resist I yank his head back by his hair and simply take what I want. Eventually he understands that he cannot say no to me. He is not allowed such luxuries. He is allowed no privacy. I have seen him nude multiple times, he needs to be bathed after all.

.

It's bath time now.

I tell him to undress, and he does so with no resistance. His body is sublime, even in its scarred ruin. He is skinny and his skin is a dark honey color, contrasting beautifully with his white-bleached hair. I stroke his face, tenderly outlining the six scars that mar its otherwise perfection. He closes his eyes and makes a noise of approval in the back of his throat, like a small kitten purring. I close in the distance between our mouths and kiss him. He submits absolutely, completely pliant to every whim of mine. With one hand I reach down and begin stroking him. He gasps and kisses back strongly, begging me to go faster. I do. I kiss and nip at his throat, and bring up my other hand for him to suck on. He does. After my fingers are slippery, I bring them down to his ass and tease him with my index finger. He whines and moans, hips shifting rhythmically downwards as if to impale himself on my finger. The rocking makes my hand encircling his dick go faster. He moans loudly and pre-come pearls at the head of his penis then leaks down, making my stroking hand go faster. I thrust my finger in and shallowly fuck him with it. His breathing accelerates and he comes, his face contorted into a soundless scream. He collapses bonelessly on me and kisses me languidly. His eyes look into mine. I see adoration. But not love.

I kiss him on the forehead and gently place him in the filled tub. There are mountains of bubbles, they emit a citrus smell. He told me once that it was his favorite. He smiles and cups his hands into the bubbles. Bringing his hands up near his face, he puffs some bubbles at me. I smile back and stroke his hair. He leans into the caress, eyes closed and a small curl playing at his lips. I get up to leave. He looks lost for a second.

I tell him to _continue your bath, I need to prepare dinner_.

He looks relieved, _alright, but what's it gonna be today?_

_A surprise_, I tell him.

He looks satisfied and sinks back down into the water, a happy sigh drifting out of his mouth.

.

He is not allowed in the kitchen. He knows this. He has been in the kitchen. I know because of the various little signs. A crooked knife, a misplaced dish, an out of place cup. I don't say anything. He hasn't delved into anything too important yet.

While he takes his bath, I flit around the kitchen absentmindedly; I know all the motions of preparing food. It is not so difficult anymore. While the food cooks I set the table.

I hear a click. The bathroom door opens and he comes out still drenched, a towel drapes across his jutting hipbones. He looks at me, another smile. I smile back and turn back to cooking. The bedroom door opens but doesn't close all the way. He never closes doors completely and because of this, there's a little sliver of space left over, enough for me to look through. I spy. He takes off the towel and uses it to dry his hair. After a bit he stops then walks away from my line of sight. I turn back to my cooking.

_Is it ready?_ He timidly asks from the doorway, suddenly materializing. He is wearing his customary large shirt and undershorts.

I nod. I bring the food to the table. It is chinese today. He loves chinese, the only food he eats in abundance, especially the noodles and vegetables. He sits on his stool and begins to eat. I sit on my own and start to eat my plain white rice. He looks up and asks me why I don't eat what he's eating. I tell him I don't particularly feel like eating noodles today. This answer satisfies him and he goes back to eating.

After a few more bites he complains that he's tired, I tell him it's fine and that he should sleep.

He goes into our bedroom and gets into the bed.

I watch him long enough to make sure the drug has taken hold. Then I clean up the dishes and leave.

.

I have work.

I am one of those people that calls you during dinnertime to ask you what you think of products that you have just purchased. I don't particularly like my job. But I need to do it. It makes the way I live appear more real. Today, my superior calls me in to her office. I go. She tells me that two policemen want to talk to me. I go and talk to them.

They ask me if I had seen a blond, blue-eyed boy recently. I tell them no. Then they ask me where I was some months ago. I tell them I was out of town. They seem skeptical. I tell them I was with my parents celebrating their anniversary. My parents are dead, but the officers don't know that. They ask me if I may give them a number by which to contact them. I give them one. It's my brother's. He'll say anything to protect me. They don't look convinced but can ask no more questions. They bid me good day and take their leave.

I go back to work. Soon it's over and I go back home.

.

A day goes by and I get a call from the officers, they apologize for their behavior and tell me they won't bother me again. My alibi was solid. I love my brother.

.

I go to work again.

I come home.

The drug has worn off and he's waiting for me on the couch. He does not look happy.

I ask him what's wrong.

He throws some bottles at me. They are filled with powders and liquids and pills.

He asks me, _what the fuck is this?_

I tell him it's nothing.

He doesn't believe me. He asks me if I have been drugging him. I don't say anything. He grows angry, then explodes, _you're no better than _her_! I trusted you goddammit! You know that I won't fight you anymore. Why the hell do you even need to drug me for anyways? _His hand jabs out and gathers the collar of my shirt in a fist.

Again I remain silent, growing annoyed with him. He's losing it and suddenly throws himself at me. I know that if I don't subdue him fast enough I may not survive. Over the months he has gotten stronger, though still has not gained any mass. He means to kill me now. He punches me and tries to strangle me. He is on top of me, so I roll over, causing us to drop onto the floor with me on top of him. He grunts and writhes under me, struggling to throw me off. I don't give him any opportunity and instead take his breath. I wrap my hands around his neck, thumbs digging and pushing into the little hollow where the head meets the neck. He chokes. He begins to thrash harder, adrenaline coursing through his system. My knees are pinning his arms down to the floor. He cannot move. After a while he goes slack, occasionally jerking when his brain struggles to gain consciousness. His legs kick out one more time and then he's completely gone. His eyes are a flat blue and they are watching me. I close them gently.

I don't cry. I am far too used to this.

He doesn't look much different than when he's sleeping. The only sign of anything wrong are the bruises blossoming beneath the skin of his neck.

I wrap him up in a light cloth and take him to a nearby wood.

.

There is a hidden cave there, which leads to a secret pit.

There are other bodies there, many, perhaps even countless. The last one was placed here about a year ago. She was my brother's.

Now he's the newest addition. He's forever mine.

.

End.


End file.
